


Sunset hues

by Kath (KathWolfie)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bartender!Daichi, Budding Romance, First Meetings, Flirting, Flirty Customer!Mattsun, Jazz Club AU, M/M, Mutual Attraction, daichirarepairweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 01:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9693956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathWolfie/pseuds/Kath
Summary: “Weak conversation starter,” Daichi isn’t sure if he went too far or not, but what’s done cannot be undone. The man only chuckles at the comment, putting away almost empty glass.“Weak, huh? Ok, I get it,” there are remnants of low, vibrating laugh in the way the guy speaks. Something peculiar in his gaze tells Daichi to come closer as he continues. “So would you like to hear about the pictures your imagination paints when your mind wanders to the light on the glass or tealights in the walls?”In which no one suspects Sawamura Daichi of being weak for mystery, romantic imagery and poetic descriptions. No one suspects, not even Sawamura Daichi himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyTrashyWriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyTrashyWriting/gifts), [isseitaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isseitaka/gifts).



> **For Daichi Rarepair Week - Day 3**
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt: Colors**
> 
>  
> 
> For Nat, who is a constant support in my life and I love her and she deserves everything, not just a fic T_T  
> For Merley, the first person to capslock with me about matsudais and capslocking with me about something always means a lot to my fan heart

There is a bit too much pressure in Daichi’s grip. The glass squeaks in protest, specks of orange light shining over its surface. Well-practiced swipes of burgundy cloth erase visible fingerprints, narrowed eyes searching for smudges or their remnants. The foot clinks against the granite of bar counter, soft noise drowning in murmured conversations. Smooth, rhythmic notes played by the band fill the air the same way the cigarette smoke does.

 

Daichi feels somehow sleepy. He guesses the routine must have finally gotten to him – the decadency in the general atmosphere of ‘Cotton’ isn’t as appealing as it used to be. There was a time he felt cornered by the reality, caged in expectations - choosing to work in a jazz club was a decision he made consciously, even though some still accused him of simply “wanting to prove a point”. Maybe they weren’t entirely wrong. His social circle was in an uproar for about half a year before they realized Daichi had actually hit a jackpot. With a surprisingly steady job, more or less fixed hours and future managerial prospects open and waiting, decadency became his normalcy.

 

A couple of feet away Kai chats quietly with a slightly intoxicated customer, probably stealing her heart and making her into a regular just by using his quiet charm. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s doing to people,’ Kuroo observed once, after gulping down the last of his fourth Black Russian. Suffice to say, that night did not end well for their band’s bassist.

 

Their usual evening crowd is dispersed by now. Most of the clientele is sat by the stage, watching in rapt attention as Oikawa takes the lead with a solo piano performance. Kuroo moves to the side, hand gently tapping on his bass, while Iwaizumi observes the pianist from behind the drums. Terushima and Ennoshita move between tables with trained ease, scribbling orders in small notebooks or taking away empty glasses. Daichi sighs then comes back to work. After he makes a couple of Cosmopolitans, serves one Bacardi and later on mixes three Shochu cocktails, he goes back to polishing glasses. His fingers gently grasp at the stem of yet another wine glass, the red material of the cleaning cloth coming to brush against the side of the bowl. He raises his hand, inspecting the transparent ware under the dim light of the nearest lamp. There is something hypnotizing in the way it gleams, small ray dancing at the rim every time Daichi does as much as flicks his wrist.

 

“Slow day, isn’t it.”

 

Daichi starts at the voice coming from somewhere to his left. Mentally reprimanding himself for not noticing a client earlier, he turns to the person sitting at the far end of the bar. The moment his eyes meet the gaze directed at him, his body freezes for a millisecond. Unknown, jet black infinity - the only fitting description his mind supplies him with when heavy-lidded orbs lock with his own. The nonchalance with which the other man holds himself seems to be his natural, permanent state. But there is something vexing about him, something that can’t be placed. Daichi’s thoughts wander to the noir films’ style, pictures shrouded in shadows, secrets and mysteries. Bored, a borderline tired expression is a big contrast to the intensity of the man’s eyes, dark, devious shrewdness lurking in their obsidian depths. The guy in question takes out a pack of cigarettes and an ornate lighter, staring at the bartender intently. Snapping back to reality, Daichi forces a professional smile and slides an ashtray over, shaking his head at the client’s previous statement.

 

“Two hours earlier and all the seats would’ve been occupied,” Daichi says, observing the way the man lights his cig, then takes a slow drag and nods in acknowledgment.

 

“Lucky me,” the guy smiles subtly, traces of a barely-there smirk embedded to the small dimple in the corner of his mouth.

 

“So it seems,” Daichi answers in kind, polite smile just a tiny bit sharper at the edges. The man puffs out a surprisingly white cloud of smoke, gaze traveling to Daichi and the glass in his hand. Daichi waits for a moment, expecting that the guy will try to take the lead in their conversation - the clients usually do this, hungry for attention or simply longing for someone to hear them out. But this man keeps quiet - he observes, waiting just like Daichi does. It feels as if they both try to herd each other, testing the waters in quite similar ways.

 

“What can I do for you?” Daichi finally asks because he can’t really go back to what he was doing without taking the order. After all, Ukai was always clear about the fact that one of the bartenders’ most important responsibilities is to make sure the patrons won’t complain about inattentive service. Daichi moves a little closer, putting the glass he was polishing right in front of the other. Seeing a flash of interest gleam in the man’s charcoal orbs makes Daichi’s pulse quicken but he ignores the weird sensation under his skin.

 

“Couple of things, most probably,” the guy answers easily, putting the cig between his lips. The deliberate way the stranger seizes him up, with a contemplative, appreciating look on his face is simultaneously a compliment of sorts and an obvious innuendo as to what he really wants. Nervous, jittery squeeze in Daichi’s stomach leaves him a bit restless. This one he cannot ignore because quite frankly, he feels naked under the careful scrutiny of hooded eyes. It’s not the first time one of the patrons is not interested in the drinks – Daichi has had his fair share of both drunk and sober admirers. But for some unfathomable reason, this particular case makes it hard for him to distinguish between what exactly gives him goose bumps: apprehension or anticipation.

 

“Anything you’d like to try?” Daichi asks the usual question, noting how quiet his voice became, velvet underlying the almost casual tone. Daichi catches the man glancing at his lips, pupils dilating. The guy grasps at the stem of the forgotten wine glass standing before him. He twirls it a couple of times between his long, long fingers, gaze trained on Daichi in a way that promises too many things he isn’t sure he can handle. It’s a spectacle intended to catch attention, stir things hidden under facades and false pretenses. It works marvelously.

 

The thing is, this whole situation is kind of a common occurrence with all bartenders: it happens everywhere, all the time. It is an occupational hazard. Then again, this man has something, an air, an invisible aura – call it what you may – that gives Daichi a pretty damn good reason to feel like a fly caught in a spider’s web. It’s like the seemingly sleepy stare can pierce souls, find all weaknesses. It unnerves Daichi, makes him vulnerable in some inexplicable, convoluted way.

 

‘Get a grip, Sawamura,’ he thinks to himself, still smiling expectantly at his peculiar client. Flirting was never his forte, but it won’t stop him from trying to get this situation under control. Preferably his own. Daichi’s mouth morphs into a half-grin. Ever so slightly, he leans over the counter. Daichi notices the lazy upward stretch of the man’s thin lips and simply waits.

 

“Right now bourbon and coke will do. Later… You, maybe?” The man murmurs, subsequently forcing the air out of Daichi’s lungs - it morphs into a soft, breathy chuckle. The smooth confidence of this guy is simply astonishing. In normal circumstances, these kinds of lines never work, not on Daichi at least. And yet, when it is this man using them, the prospects seem tempting. Something inside Daichi flutters when he realizes that yes, he might be down for whatever the guy has to offer. He internally curses himself for being so easily swayed. In all truth, he had not felt this kind of thrill in a long time, the last one being his first meeting with Tendou, ‘Cotton’ former, devilish accountant. He didn’t give in then, he isn’t going to do it now, not yet at least. Maybe it is his pride speaking or maybe he is so fed up with the routine, that he is willing to prolong the chase just for the kicks.

 

“I don’t know if you realize that, but there are some things you won’t get here,” a sudden spark of rebelliousness running down Daichi’s spine automatically straightens his back, coloring his voice with hints of defiance. He leans back, creating a bit more space between them. He then goes about preparing the ordered drink, not even glancing in the guy’s direction.

 

A low, vibrating laugh makes Daichi a bit weak in the knees. Now that is a thing that did not happen in a long time.

 

“I’m aware. >>Die trying<< You see, people are surprisingly generous creatures - they’re just willing to give,” the other continues, staring at the glass in his fingers without any real interest.

 

“How so?” Daichi raises his brow questioningly, garnishing the drink with a lime wedge. The man shrugs but does not stop playing with the stem.

 

“Asking nicely seems to do the trick for most of them.”

 

Daichi chuckles and puts the drink on the counter.

 

“Oh? And what do they get in return?” He asks the question looking right into the half-lidded eyes. He tries to grab the empty glass, but the man’s hold on it only gets firmer.

 

“Depends.”

 

Daichi can feel himself involuntarily leaning over the bar, drawn in by some invisible force.

 

“On what exactly?” He asks with the odd softness in his tone.

 

A deliberate touch of fingers brushing against Daichi’s own makes his mind do a full stop. The gentle caress lasts only a second. It looks innocent, it could be read as accidental. But Daichi knows better and yet he is still too stunned to even react properly.

 

Their gazes meet and he is instantly taken aback by the inconspicuous, playful smirk directed at him

 

“On what they really want,” the man finally answers, releasing his hold over the empty glass and grabbing the bourbon. He sips on it contently, traces of smile still visible in his eyes.Usually, Daichi is all for so-called ‘direct approach’, but that was something… on a different level. And the thing that worries him the most is the fact that he still doesn’t want to punch the guy for allowing himself too much. Daichi does not know which heat is worse – the one in his cheeks or the one accumulating in the pit of his stomach. It is Kai’s voice that saves the day because ten more seconds of looking at the man before him and everything might have ended badly. Daichi backs away a little too quickly, a child caught on stealing from the cookie jar, while it is actually him who feels like a cookie that had been ‘stolen’ by the man behind the counter.

 

“I’m done for today,” Kai says, his eyes flicking to the sitting man, then to Daichi’s face. “I can stay though. If you need help with anything, just tell me.”

 

Daichi is not exactly sure how they must look to the other bartender, but his wild guess is that he seems like a damsel facing off an amused dragon.

 

“I think I’ll manage, but thanks either way,” Daichi shakes his head in response, because really - he may be a bit baffled, and maybe, just maybe, a little thrown off by the fact that the person who flirts with him is somehow out of his league, but he can deal with it. He chances one last glance at the client, noticing the curiosity lighting up the charcoal eyes as they observe him closely before he goes back to work. Kai is skeptical but does not press the topic any longer.

 

When after half an hour Kai finally retreats to the back, Daichi and the ‘noir guy’ - for a second the nickname seemed fitting in Daichi’s head - are left practically alone. Other customers have already moved near the stage, huddling over small tables. Terushima still hops around, writing the orders down, while Ennoshita tends to the burned tealights that fill small, empty spaces between the bricks. Tiny flames flicker gently, the gold light seeping through the red of ‘Cotton’ walls, flooding the place with an orange afterglow.

 

“Comfortable, isn’t it?” A voice comes from the side, quiet and low, careful not to disturb. A fleeting thought that the voice ‘fits here’, makes Daichi pause for a second. Turning his head slightly, he puts away a bottle of kome shochu he was holding. The man just pretends that he wasn’t staring at Daichi a moment ago as he surveys the nearest wall, eyes wandering from one tealight space to another.

 

“This is why the place is called ‘Cotton’,” the noir guy looks up after hearing Daichi’s short explanation, nodding. His face says that he would like to know more, so the bartender decides to indulge him. “The owner wanted for it to be as cozy as possible. Their fiancée does interior design and this club was supposed to be her uni project.”

 

“I hope she raced it,” the genuine smile warms Daichi’s insides, the ‘noir’ around the man dissipating ounce by ounce with every subtle gesture. “Can you pour me another one?” the guy asks, now fully facing Daichi.

 

“Will you pay for the last one though?” Daichi does not know why he allows himself to be on such friendly terms with the other. He just instinctively knows that whatever may come out of it won’t be bad - he is the type that usually trusts his gut feeling to make the right decision where the head might fail in the end.

 

A flash of surprise runs across the handsome man’s face, but the laughter that follows can not mean anything other than amusement.

 

“If I don’t, you can always send those bulky bodyguards or come after me yourself,” there is something like a mix between cheeky and hopeful in those words, the mischief in obsidian orbs visible and barely hidden.

 

“Better hope it won’t come to that. My headlocks are meaner than you would expect,” Daichi laughs and the other man does too, his eyes lingering on Daichi’s arms for a moment.

 

"I think some of your arguments might have the opposite effect,” the ‘noir’ guy smirks a bit lazily, one corner of his lips rising, then once again morphing into an amused smile, as he pushes his empty glass in Daichi’s direction.

 

“And I think you don’t know what I want to achieve with my arguments,” for some inexplicable reason Daichi enjoys the brief looks of wonder he earns, so he keeps running his mouth in a way he never did with another customer. Daichi takes the used glass away, then deftly pours the new drink and hands it over.

 

“I see. My mistake,” the guy says casually, taking a slow sip. Terushima brings the paper with neatly scribbled names of drinks, shooting Daichi a toothy grin, then turns to the guy, giving him his most forced professional smile. A pinch to the back of his hand makes the young waiter pout slightly. Daichi has seen this face too many times for it to work properly.

 

“I’ll call on you when I’m done with the orders. If you’re free, then go help Ennoshita,” Daichi says,

 

“But-” Terushima doesn’t manage to finish before Daichi shoots him with a tired look and a soft-spoken ‘please’. The guy watches the whole exchange with mild amusement, his eyes sharp and clever even when half-lidded. When Terushima leaves, the man leans a bit on his elbows, observing how Daichi works. He doesn’t utter a word, not until Terushima leaves the second time, with colorful, fruity drinks packed on two trays, ready to be served.

 

“Can you tell me more about the club’s history?” The question is a standard one, making Daichi’s lips twitch. It feels like they have already crossed this bridge and he himself allowed more than polite starters.

 

“Weak conversation starter,” Daichi isn’t sure if he went too far or not, but what’s done cannot be undone. The man only chuckles at the comment, putting away almost empty glass.

 

“<<Weak>>, huh? Ok, I get it,” there are remnants of low, vibrating laugh in the way the guy speaks. Something peculiar in his gaze tells Daichi to come closer as he continues. “So would you like to hear about the pictures your imagination paints when your mind wanders to the light on the glass or tealights in the walls?”

 

Daichi’s bewilderment is likely the only emotion showing on his face. It does not, however, stop the man from speaking up once again.

 

“Middle of a hot summer. A lake, wide and clear, surrounded by giant pines. The trees watch their emerald reflections in a shiny water mirror, from time to time the image wrinkled by the softly blowing wind. Snowy mountain peaks tower over the lake, over the pines, and the sun slowly hides behind their sharp edges, It’s warm there, sand and rocks still radiating heat latched onto their earthy, colorful surface. The sun descends, bright rays hitting mountain tops, then gradually melting, flowing onto the water with hues of dusk and contentment. Transparent water blends gold with amber, with rubies, with amethysts and aquamarines, and malachites. It’s beautiful and calming, the nature forcing the chaos of colors into something that has a form, deliberate and controlled in all its wildness. And it’s hard to not look at because the light simply catches the eye of the one who is watching.”

 

A shaky ‘Ah’ makes it past Daichi’s slightly parted lips when the man finishes. Daichi blinks - he realizes their eyes were locked the whole time and that they are still looking at each other even now, unable to break the contact.

 

“Was it close to what you see in those glasses?” Audible hints of uncertainty in the seemingly calm voice push at Daichi’s mind, lungs filling with much-needed air - he did not realize he was somehow holding his breath.

 

“It-” Daichi starts, ”-it was much better, actually. You have a gift. It- the imagery was so vivid. Do you travel a lot? Are you a writer?” The questions spill as if some sort of a dam had been broken and they both are similarly taken off guard by it. The other man collects himself quicker, but it takes a sip of the bourbon for him to finally tear his gaze away from Daichi. The bartender guesses that this situation was more of an improvisation than a tested flirting tactic and now they both have reached an impasse.

 

“Well then… Are you prepared to fill my glass for like, let's say, next hour?” The man asks, smile subtle, inviting. Daichi knows that at the beginning it was supposed to be something a lot simpler, but now it started to become something more - they were both curious and willing to listen and share.

 

“Well, it is part of my job, you know,” Daichi smirks, offering a clear pass. The ‘noir’ guy takes his cue, dark, but the warm melody of his voice allowing Daichi to immerse in the tale of countries, cities, places he would like to see in the future. It is all a little bit fantastic for him, with the way the man tells the stories of people he met, old buildings he admired and he does it as if he was painting the scenes.

 

Sadly, nothing lasts forever - Ennoshita comes over to ask Daichi to mix two more Blue Ballets and pour four glasses of some regional wine, ending the conversation. Daichi excuses himself and goes back to work. Feeling heavy, intense gaze wandering over his back, he tries to rationalize his own behavior in regard to this particular client, but the longer he thinks about it, the more complicated it gets. When the man is done with his drink, he beckons Daichi, putting a rather large bill on the countertop.

 

“Keep the change. Thanks for the evening,” he says, standing up and pushing at the bar stool. Daichi looks at the money, then back at the guy.

 

“You know perfectly well that it’s way too much. I don’t even know if I can call it ‘a tip’ at this point,” his exasperated tone seems to be amusing to the other, but Daichi’s lips stay a hard line even when hooded eyes lock with his own. Weak knees never were a problem for him, up until this point, that is.

 

“Next week’s tab,” the man smiles subtly and it somehow throws Daichi off.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Congratulations, you have gained a customer who pays for a week worth of bourbon and coke in advance,” the guy concludes matter-of-factly. “I could also pay for your dinner sometime,” he adds, patiently waiting for some sort of response.

 

For his part, Daichi stays rather collected, given how weird he felt about this whole situation just ten minutes ago. But there is one question nagging him, drilling holes in the back of his head - one thing he’s curious about.

 

“How do you do it?”

 

“What?” the other asks, his faked innocence so comical it actually leaves Daichi smiling.

 

“Say- say and do things like that without batting an eyelash. I still don’t know why your face is intact after that ‘accidentally touching’ number you did on me because it totally deserved a punch.”

 

The man doesn’t seem to be surprised by Daichi’s response. He is not deterred either, sparks of playfulness reflecting in his jet black eyes.

 

“Wow. That was- that was actually a pretty rude thing to say to a client. And a regular, on top of that.”

 

The bartender crosses his arms over his chest, hoping to look at least mildly unimpressed.

 

“You are not a regular. Not yet,” Daichi corrects. “I am usually able to put my regulars’ names on their open tabs, you know,” there is a challenge in his tone as he grasps onto the empty glass. Before he is able to put it away, his strangely captivating patron answers.

 

“Matsukawa Issei. Mind telling me your name? You know, fair trade.”

 

“Sawamura Daichi,” the reply is as quick as the small grin flashing over Daichi’s face. It leaves the tall man smiling slightly.

 

“Nice to meet you. So what are your thoughts on getting a free dinner, Sawamura-san?” The easiness with which the guy- Matsukawa- goes back to the topic is absolutely charming and absolutely unnerving.

 

“Oh God, you’re persistent,” Daichi chuckles, taking enough money to cover the drink and pushing the rest of the bill back to Matsukawa. He puts his hands on the countertop, simultaneously shortening the distance between himself and the other man. “Thank you, but not today. Will you take this back?” He glances pointedly at the cash, already expecting the answer.

 

Matsukawa slides the bill yet one more time to Daichi’s side of the bar, smirking.

 

“Paying in advance, remember? I will ask you about that dinner tomorrow. Have a good night,” Matsukawa bids his goodbyes, smiling one last time before he turns around and takes his leave. He doesn’t glance back, while Daichi can’t stop his gaze from following him. The lingering smell of Matsukawa’s cigarette’s smoke is not as suffocating as it may seem. And ironically, it brings a breath of fresh air into the wearisome routine. But just when he thinks he is all alone with his thoughts and cleaning before the closing, his ear catches soft steps to the left side of the bar. He turns around, noticing Matsukawa still isn’t finished with buttoning up the charcoal overcoat he probably just retrieved from the coatroom.

 

“If you’re wondering why your bodyguard let me back in a coat - he didn’t. I slipped past him when he was distracted by a pair of beautiful women,” Matsukawa seems quite laid back, only the playful spark in his eyes revealing how content he actually is with himself and his alleged ‘misbehavior’. “So I need to be swift before anybody besides this blond waiter notices me and reports to the authorities. I just realized something,” he says quietly, leaning over the bar with all of his tall form, right into Daichi’s personal space. Their faces are inches apart when the taller man continues. “The  lights at ‘Cotton’ indeed make everything look a bit warmer, cozier, especially with the tealights between the bricks, you get the gist.” Matsukawa’s breath is hot over Daichi’s nose, onyx orbs scanning him. “Sunset tones really suit you, Sawamura-san. And I believe they are natural, not light induced,” the smile that follows is soft and charming, making Daichi heart flutter.

 

“Unbelievable,” Daichi stage-whispers, then beams at Matsukawa, noticing the look of pure wonder crossing the other man’s features for a brief moment.

 

“Yo, mister! Should I show you the door or will you find it alone?” Kamasaki sounds more amused than angry, eyeing them with a fake frown plastered to his face.

 

“That’s my cue. Good night,” Matsukawa shrugs, turning back and allowing Kamasaki to show him to the exit. The ‘noir guy’ is all lean lines, dark clothes and even darker eyes, accompanied by quiet confidence and nonchalance with an air of mystery. ‘Matsukawa Issei’ is all of this and so much more.

 

Daichi wonders about tomorrow, the long-forgotten thrill of anticipation running down his spine.

  
‘Be grateful for small blessings,’ Daichi reminds himself, dimples in his cheeks deepening.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a slow burn and yet I still can't break the mold fml
> 
> Then again... Matsudais, anyone?
> 
>  
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr](http://at-the-road-beginning.tumblr.com/)


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